


Hangover Cure

by Vizkopa



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lime?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/pseuds/Vizkopa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh? Do you have a magical hangover cure or something?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He spun you around and kissed you fleetingly, then grinned. “The next best thing.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hangover Cure

You woke to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and tropical birds trilling in the trees around your camp. It would have been a nice wake up call if it weren’t for the pounding in your head and the feeling that something small and furry had crawled into the back of your throat in the night and died there. You wished you could say you hadn’t had a hangover this bad in a long time, but this was only a typical weekend with the Red Hair Pirates. You opened your eyes with some difficulty, eyelids heavy with sleep, and took a cursory glance around the camp site, before the morning sun became too much and you closed them again.

The rest of the crew were still asleep, the camp fire nothing but ashes from the night before. The subtle scent of wood smoke still hung in the air as the last embers died. The smell made you nauseous.

Perhaps it would be better if you just went back to sleep for a while. As you settled back down in your bed roll, you spared a passing thought for your captain. If you felt this bad, he surely wouldn’t be doing much better. Perhaps he’d come to regret digging up that hidden cache of hundred year old rum. Probably not though. Come to think of it, you hadn’t noticed Shanks’ token red hair amongst the sleeping bodies around the campfire…

You bolted upright as a sudden thought invaded your mind. You regretted the action immediately as your head spun and you felt bile rise in the back of your throat. You supressed the urge to vomit. What if Shanks had wandered off in the night and passed out on a beach somewhere and drowned? You groaned. 

God damn it, you’d better go find him.

Standing was a chore and walking was agony as every step you took jolted your poor head. _I’ll never drink this much again,_ you thought, but you had said the exact same thing last time and, well, here you were.

The sun had yet to fully rise and the morning sea wind was chilly. You hadn’t thought to bring a jacket so you shivered uncontrollably in the breeze. You should have stayed in bed. 

Just as you were about to give up and head back to the camp site (Shanks could deal with his own problems, you decided), you spotted him asleep further up the beach. The waves were lapping at his ankles, and he was covered head to toe in sand, but otherwise he appeared to be alright. 

You sighed and leaned down by his side. He smelled of liquor and the faint bitterness of sweat and bile, and a trail of something you didn’t even want to think about had crusted in the corner of his mouth. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

“Remind me how _you_ became captain again?” you muttered to yourself. You sighed, and prodded his shoulder. “Captain!” He didn’t even stir, just continued snoring faintly, his mouth wide open. “Shanks!” you called, but he was dead to the world.

You sighed and stood up, looking out to sea. The Red Force lay anchored in the shallow waters, rocking gently in the tide. The morning high tide was coming in. You had planned to leave with it when it went out again, but that had probably been an unrealistic goal from the second the first bottle of rum was opened. 

The water was creeping further up the beach, each wave larger than the last. They crashed on the shore, soaking your feet and leaving them half-sunken in the sand when they retreated again. Shanks slept on, despite the advancing water line now soaking the ends of his pants.

There was only one thing to do. You waited, watching the ocean carefully until a ripple further out to sea showed promise. You watched it build mass and momentum, rushing toward the shore with white foam spitting at the air. You took a long step backwards and watched it come crashing down. Right on top of Shanks.

You chuckled as you watched him flail and sputter as the shock of the cold water pulled him from his sleep. He glanced around wildly before his gaze settled on you and he groaned. 

“You are most certainly not the bikini-clad babe that was serving me drinks five minutes ago.”

“Good morning to you too, Captain,” you said with fake cheerfulness. “Sleep well?”

“Like a log,” he said, clutching his head. “One that was thrown off a cliff.”

He took a moment to gather himself, before clambering to his feet. He stretched and shook the wet hair from his eyes, then his gaze turned to you. He stepped close to you, hand skimming your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake as his cold fingers left water trails across your skin. 

“Good morning,” he purred. “And how did you sleep? I went searching for you last night, but you were having so much fun, I didn’t want to pull you away.”

“Is that why you sought out Miss Bikini in your dreams?” You tried to sound bitter, but you were distracted by the way his wet shirt clung to his muscles, the white fabric letting you catch a glimpse of the skin beneath.

He smoothed the wet strands of his hair back from his forehead sheepishly. You watched appreciatively as his muscles flexed with the movement. “Hey, she sought _me_ out,” he said, his tone rising in mock defensiveness.

“Whatever you say, Captain,” you smirked. “Come on, you’re soaking and I’m positive you have sand in places you don’t want to even think about. You need a shower.”

“Will you be joining me?”

“No.”

“But what if I slip and hit my head and drown?”

“Then you drown.”

You began to walk off in the direction of the ship, not looking back to check that Shanks was following. That was a mistake. The next thing you knew, you found yourself being tackled to the ground, landing with a splash in the icy shallows. Shuddering with cold and anger, you glared up at Shanks as he sat straddling your waist.

“There, now you need a shower too.”

You sighed. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

The ship was empty when you arrived, the crew still fast asleep on the shore. You estimated they wouldn’t wake until midday at the earliest. Your heart thrummed at the thought of those few precious hours you had with Shanks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” he asked, pressing you against the mast and littering butterfly kisses across your jaw.

You closed your eyes. His offer was tempting, but…

“Your breath smells like ass,” you said, pushing him away from you.

“I don’t have to kiss you on the mouth,” he said, a cocky smirk spreading across his face.

“Oh my God… Just go,” you said pushing him again in the direction of the bathroom. He pouted as he looked back over his shoulder. “I’ll join you in a minute,” you added, watching the belated grin spread across his face.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll start without you,” he warned with a playful, lingering glance, before he disappeared behind the door. 

After a moment, you heard the shower start up and Shanks begin to sing a gruff sea shanty with lyrics so vulgar they made you blush. You shook your head and sighed. It was as if he _hadn’t_ woken alone on a beach with a raging hangover only minutes before. You followed after him, shaking your head in disbelief.

The moment you stepped beneath the cascading water, Shanks wrapped his arm around you, pressing his chest against your back. He hummed happily, nuzzling your neck.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like my head is about to split open,” you groaned.

“I can help with that.”

“Oh? Do you have a magical hangover cure or something?”

He spun you around and kissed you fleetingly, then grinned. “The next best thing.”

He pressed you against the wall, chuckling as you jumped at the shock of the cold tiles against your back. He kissed his way down your neck and between your breasts, continuing downwards until he paused at your belly button. Kneeling on the hard tile floor, he looked up at you and gave you a cheeky smirk, before hoisting one of your legs onto his shoulder.

“Shanks!” you cried out in alarm, but his smirk only widened.

“One hangover cure coming right up,” he said. “You might want to hold onto something.”


End file.
